


In So Many Words

by YakuzaDog



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Presents, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fireplaces, First Kiss, Fluff, Holding Hands, John is warm, M/M, Pining, Sherlock is cold, and they both don't know how to talk about their feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 09:23:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3062504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YakuzaDog/pseuds/YakuzaDog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock frowns. He has two options.</p><p>He can stay here in the kitchen, ponder futilely over this dreadful case, freeze his arse off, and overall, have an unpleasant evening.</p><p>Or, he can take a short break, warm himself up by the fire, and be in the company of John.</p><p>Loyal, considerate, and rather amazing, <em>John</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In So Many Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youraveragejoke](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youraveragejoke/gifts).



> This is my gift to [your-average-joke](your-average-joke.tumblr.com) for the 2014 holiday exchangelock gift exchange! They requested cuddling by the fire~
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

 

It’s the cold that snaps him out of his thoughts first, not the frustration like he was assuming it would.

An unpleasant, full-body shiver surges through Sherlock, starting at the back of his neck and settling in the toes of his bare feet splayed on the chilled kitchen flooring. He can feel gooseflesh rising on the skin of his arms underneath the sleeves of his dressing gown. His fingers are numb and brittle where they are steepled under his chin.

God, it’s bloody _cold_.

Just a minute ago, Sherlock was deeply concentrated on the case files that lay scattered before him, but it’s now that after hours of non-stop work that he’s dreadfully reminded of his body’s demands. Although, if Sherlock was being honest with himself, this current case hasn’t really been making any progress at all ever since he started working on it this morning.

Hilariously enough, it’s a cold case from two years ago that Lestrade offered Sherlock to give a shot at—he called it an “early Christmas present.” It seemed like a present at the time, but now that Sherlock’s been stuck on it for the last twelve hours without a single lead to go on, it’s beginning to seem more like a fruitless trial.

He’s so close, though! There’s just one missing piece of the puzzle left to find and then everything will all fall into place and then he will have solved it! But how the hell is Sherlock supposed to concentrate on this blasted case when he’s practically frozen where he’s sat? _Why_ is it so cold?! And just _where_ in the world is—

The front door to 221 Baker Street slams closed downstairs.

John is home.

For a brief moment, Sherlock forgets that he’s nearly about to rip his own hair out and feels a pleasant wave of relief as he listens to John’s footsteps making his way up the staircase to the flat.

There are muffled sounds of rustling paper after each of John’s steps—paper bags. John went shopping then. He’s carrying two—no, three bags. Sherlock waits eagerly for John to enter through the kitchen doorway, but instead John passes by and heads upstairs to his bedroom. Usually he stops into the kitchen first to say hello and drop his items off, so, rather, he went _Christmas_ shopping then. Most likely picked something up for Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade, possibly something for Harry or Molly or maybe even… something for Sherlock.

Sherlock doesn’t get a chance to elaborate on that thought because that’s when John finally enters the kitchen.

“Hey,” John greets Sherlock with a weary smile. It’s the greatest thing Sherlock’s seen or heard all day.

Sherlock quickly glances back at the case files on the table and tries to look busy. He grunts vaguely in reply. It isn’t that he wants to ignore John, but—well, he doesn’t want to look _too_ eager to see John, does he?

“Looks like you haven’t moved an inch since I left.” John walks over to the table and glances at the files scattered on the table. “Made any leads?”

Sherlock grunts again.

John purses his lips. “Right. Well, I’ll just assume you don’t need my help and you’ve got it covered then, yeah?” He walks past Sherlock to grab the kettle and fill it with water. While John has his back turned, Sherlock glances over at John. He’s physically exhausted—been standing in queues for hours at a time. His hair’s partially damp from the snow outside, so he’s definitely in need of some warming up. Stiffness in his arms and sides shows he probably had a few run-ins with aggressive shoppers. Overall, John is not is feeling too keen at the moment.

It’s a moment later that Mrs. Hudson appears in the kitchen doorway. “Woo hoo!”

John turns around and offers her a tight smile. “Hello, Mrs. Hudson.”

“I heard you just getting home now, John. How was it out there?”

“Ah, busy. Not exactly the most fun time to be out there, honestly.”

“I understand, dear. Week before Christmas—it’s awful,” Mrs. Hudson coos. “Well, I’ve just made a bit of homemade cider. I can bring some up, if you boys are interested.”

“That would be absolutely lovely, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you,” John says, sounding much more relaxed. Mrs. Hudson gives John an affectionate pat on the arm and Sherlock a quick ruffle of his hair before heading downstairs.

John puts the kettle back on the counter and heads into the sitting room to hang up his jacket and scarf. He pads over to the fireplace and kneels down to get a fire started. Sherlock watches quietly as John moves around the sitting room, gathering a book and a blanket, readying himself for a comfortable evening in the lounge.

For the last few weeks, this has become a regular routine for the two of them—lazing in their respective armchairs in front of the fireplace, sometimes sitting on the floor and leaning against their chairs just to get that much closer to the fire’s heat. Sherlock decides tonight must be one of those warmer nights as he watches John carefully adjusts his red armchair to face the mantle.

“Maybe you should take a break,” John suggests as he walks back to the kitchen a few minutes later. “Eat something. Warm up a bit.”

Sherlock lifts his gaze from the table to give John look that says ‘ _seriously?’_ Admittedly, it all sounds wonderful to Sherlock right now, but then, why would he suddenly stop working on a case when he’s never let himself do that before? No, he should keep working for now.

John huffs a short laugh. “Never hurts to try, does it?” He shakes his head lightly and faces away. “I know you never take my advice. But you do know that I am just trying to watch out for you, right?”

“Yes,” Sherlock replies honestly and without thinking.

John turns back to Sherlock with a look that says he wasn’t expecting Sherlock to answer that just now. To be honest, Sherlock wasn’t really expecting to say it out loud either. John opens his mouth to reply, but he’s interrupted when Mrs. Hudson appears in the doorway carrying the two steaming mugs of the cider she promised them.

“Here you are, dears,” she says cheerily, placing the mugs down on the table. “Just holler if you want any more.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Hudson,” John says. “Will do.” As Mrs. Hudson takes her leave, John picks up one of the mugs and gestures with a tilt of his head for Sherlock to do the same. Sherlock doesn’t budge. John shrugs his shoulders and heads towards the lounge. “Suit yourself, then.” John eases himself down on the floor in front of the fire and nestles with a blanket and a book in his lap. Finally settled, John sighs contentedly.

Sherlock frowns. He has two options.

He can stay here in the kitchen, ponder futilely over this dreadful case, freeze his arse off, and overall, have an unpleasant evening.

Or, he can take a short break, warm himself up by the fire, and be in the company of John.

Loyal, considerate, and rather amazing, _John_.

Sherlock glances into the sitting room and eyes the side of John’s head as he reads from the book perched in his lap and sips slowly at the mug of cider in his hand.

It’s then that another violent shiver jolts through Sherlock and leaves him with his teeth chattering.

Option two it is then.

With whatever energy he has left, Sherlock rises slowly from his chair, briefly stretches his sore and rigid muscles, and shuffles over towards the lounge. Once he’s in front of his leather armchair, Sherlock plops down to sit on the floor with his knees to his chest. The change in temperature is immediate as pure, luxurious warmth from the fire washes over Sherlock’s chilled body. Sherlock can hardly suppress the little groan of satisfaction he makes as feeling begins to return to his limbs.

John smiles as he watches Sherlock relax in front of the flames. “Changed your mind, did you?”

Sherlock closes his eyes and rests his head against the side of his chair. “Needed a change of scenery is all.”

“I see. And no luck with the cider, then?”

“Not in the mood.”

John nods and takes another sip from his mug. “It’s good. Don’t think there’s much alcohol in it, though. Or any, actually.”

“Mm. Pity.”

“Quite right.”

The two of them share a knowing glance, both having had rather lousy days on each of their parts.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Sherlock speaks up. “You went Christmas shopping.”

“I didn’t think you’d noticed that, seeing as you were so withdrawn to yourself earlier.”

“Of course I noticed it.”

“Of course you did. And you probably already figured out what I bought too, didn’t you?” John says it jokingly, but Sherlock gives him a deadpan look. “You… actually did figure it out. Right, what was I thinking?” John shakes his head fondly. “Okay then, let’s hear it.”

Sherlock smirks at having been granted the okay. “Coffee sampler for Lestrade. Recipe book for Mrs. Hudson—return that one, by the way, she owns it already. And a gift certificate for Harry.”

“Christ. Glad I haven’t gotten your gift yet or you’d have figured that out as well.”

“You haven’t yet?”

John hesitates before he answers. “Well, no. To be honest, I’m not really sure what to get you.”

Sherlock considers for a moment. “Neither do I,” he replies quietly.

John smiles faintly. “You’ll think of something. You always do, in the end.”

It’s not the first time Sherlock’s heard that from John, but the praise still makes him smile.

“Speaking of which, how’s that case you’re working on?”

Sherlock groans loudly at the reminder. “Awful.”

“Really?” John asks, sounding a bit surprised.

“Yes! It’s dreadful and boring and frustratingly not solved yet! I’ve _nearly_ got it, John!” Sherlock whines.

“What’s the problem then?”

Sherlock digs his phone out of his dressing gown pocket and searches through it until he’s brought up an album of images. “Something, something in these photographs indicates that _something_ is missing. Argh! It must be staring me in the face!”

“All right, all right. Let me have a look?” And then suddenly John is much closer to where Sherlock is sitting than he ever was before and he’s leaning over Sherlock’s shoulder to look at his mobile’s screen. Their shoulders aren’t touching, but Sherlock swears, for some unfathomable reason, that John feels warmer than the burning fire in front of them could ever feel.

He wishes that he could close that distance between them.

Sherlock leans subtly closer into John’s space, still not touching him, as he scrolls through the photos on his phone. “Hold on. What was that?” John mumbles and takes the phone out of Sherlock’s hand to get a better look at an image. “No… nope. Never mind. Wasn’t what I thought it was.”

John hands Sherlock his phone back, but as he places it back in his palm, their fingers brush.

“Wow, you’re—“ John frowns and takes ahold of Sherlock’s entire hand in his own. “Jesus, Sherlock. You’re freezing.”

Sherlock may be freezing cold, but John is definitely as warm, if not warmer, than Sherlock had originally suspected. And John is definitely holding his hand. Sherlock blushes and blinks a few times in rapid succession. “I, uh—”

It takes a moment before John’s eyes widen when he realizes he’s been holding Sherlock’s hand a little too long. “Oh. Right, uh,” John says, dropping Sherlock’s hand and pulling his arm back. “Sorry.” John turns his head to look at the fireplace and he clears his throat.

“No, no,” Sherlock mutters, “it’s, um—it’s fine?” His words come out sounding like a question by accident. Sherlock mentally kicks himself for sounding so ridiculous.

But he wasn’t lying. The feeling of John’s hand enveloping his own had been more than fine. And it would be even finer if John ever decides to touch him again. Hypothetically, of course. What were the chances that John would think to touch Sherlock again when the look on his face currently resembles an expression of regret and avoidance?

Or… maybe it wasn’t that? Maybe it’s an expression of embarrassment and shyness? Surely that would explain the light tint of colour on John’s cheeks and the flickering glances he’s been shooting at Sherlock for the last minute? No, Sherlock thinks, that’s wishful thinking on his end. It can’t be that, can it? Maybe it is… but what if it isn’t?

At this point, John’s reestablished the distance that was originally between them before by moving back in front of his own chair. But easily enough, Sherlock could just… place his hand in the space in the between them, to let John know that it really is _fine_?

Sherlock tries just that; he places his hand palm-down in the space between them and hopes that John notices, and possibly, if he’s lucky, does something about it. Like touch him again. Which would be really nice right now since Sherlock’s still-chilled limbs are starting to shiver again.

And perhaps it’s because John noticed him shivering or perhaps it was just by some random miracle, but John places his hand over top Sherlock’s.

“Is this all right?” John asks carefully, not quite looking at Sherlock.

Sherlock smiles brightly to himself as he looks at their hands pressed together. “Yes,” he whispers and turns his hand over to clasp John’s and squeeze his fingers gently.

John clears his throat and squeezes back. “Good.”

It’s calm and quiet, the only sounds being the crackling of the fire, as John and Sherlock grip each other’s hands and smile shyly to themselves and watch the flames flicker together.

“I, uh,” John begins after a minute, “I’m not quite sure how to put this into words, but I, uhh…—“

“I feel the same,” Sherlock blurts out.

John whips his head around to give Sherlock a baffled look. “What? You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

Sherlock shrugs his shoulders. “I figured it out.”

John’s eyebrows rise at that. “Oh, really?”

“Mmhm.”

“You’re positive?”

“Yep.”

“Okay. What was I going to say then?”

Sherlock hesitates. “I—I’m not quite sure how to put it into words.”

“You—“ John’s words cut off as his face breaks into a look of mirth and he begins to laugh. Sherlock immediately joins in and they laugh and shake and feel every joyous quiver between them through the link of their joined hands.

There’s no doubt in either of their minds that they’re on the same wavelength now. They needn’t say what they were afraid to say before because now they both know it.

“Sherlock,” John says with a smile still on his face after their laughter dies down. “Are you still cold?”

“Well, I’m definitely warmer now than I was before,” he answers happily, “but yes, I guess I am still, a little bit.”

John grins. “Would you like me to help warm you up?”

Sherlock can’t believe this is happening, he’s so ridiculously happy. “Yes, I’d like that.”

John scoots himself over to sit next to Sherlock, drapes the blanket over both of their laps, and gently wraps his arms around Sherlock, cradling Sherlock against his chest. John sighs happily into Sherlock’s hair. “Well, this is new.”

Sherlock snuggles closer into John’s embrace, burrowing his face in the crook of John’s neck, and humming contentedly. “Shame we’re only getting to this now. We could’ve been doing this for years already.”

“You never said anything.”

Sherlock pulls back to look at John. “Neither did you.”

John huffs a laugh. “True. We’re both pretty shit at this talking thing, huh?”

Sherlock laughs softly in return. “Yeah.”

Their faces are inches apart as they look into each other’s eyes. John leans forward and rests his forehead against Sherlock’s. He lets his hands slowly roam up Sherlock’s back until one of his hands gently tangles in the curls on the back of Sherlock’s neck and the other cups the side of his face. “Is this okay?”

“Do I have to keep answering these mundane questions?” Sherlock sighs.

“Yeah, you really do,” John says fondly.

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Then the answer is yes, obviously.”

“Good.” John tilts his head and presses forward until his lips meet Sherlock’s. It’s at that very moment that Sherlock is sure he’s never felt warmer than he does right now before in his entire life. John kisses him slowly and softly, and Sherlock kisses back a little clumsily, and in the end, they both end up smiling against each other’s lips and teeth. When they pull apart, Sherlock can faintly taste apple and cinnamon on his tongue. Sherlock thinks it’s wonderful.

“I want some of that cider,” Sherlock mumbles lazily against John’s cheek.

John chuckles lowly in his throat. “You’ll have to get up off the floor if you do.”

Sherlock groans and plasters himself as close to John’s body as possible. “Never mind.”

“Oh god,” John startles slightly. “Are those your _feet_ I feel? They’re colder than the rest of you! I know what I’m getting you for Christmas now: socks. Lots and lots of socks.”

“That sounds perfectly fine,” Sherlock mutters, smiling into the warmth of John’s skin.

 

**Author's Note:**

> And then Sherlock said "bugger the case" and the two of them fell asleep in bed together, warm and snuggled together in each other's arms. (◡‿◡✿)


End file.
